The Workhouse Girl

by Dilly Court

  ‘Fifteen pounds.’ Arbuthnot took the notes from his wallet. ‘I’ll have the indentures made out for the elder girl and the young one will be found suitable work in my house until she is old enough to join the other apprentices in the mill. Have you any further objections?’

  ‘Get on with it, man.’ One of the other gentlemen pushed to the front. ‘Like Crawley I haven’t got time for all this.’

  Sarah could see that Mr Crawley was growing even more impatient, and the others were nodding in agreement. She held her breath, waiting for Mr Trigg’s decision.

  ‘Very well.’ Reluctantly, Trigg shook Arbuthnot’s hand. ‘We’re well rid of her. I just hope you don’t live to regret your decision, sir.’

  Mr Arbuthnot reached out to take Sarah’s hand. ‘You can release her now, Mrs Trigg. I’m relieving you of this young girl in the hope of giving her a better chance in life, and I’d prefer it if she came to us with both ears intact.’

  Sarah and Nettie huddled together in the corner of Mr Arbuthnot’s private carriage, clutching each other for comfort as the horses maintained a steady pace through the crowded streets. Mr Arbuthnot said very little during the journey and seemed to be more interested in the contents of The Times newspaper than he was in making conversation. Sarah stared out of the window and was finding it hard to take in the size and scale of the city. Until now her world had been centred on Covent Garden and St Giles, but she was beginning to realise that London was a much bigger place than she could ever have imagined. The roads narrowed as they approached the heart of the City and the buildings became even more impressive. Her eyes almost popped out of her head when they drove past a huge edifice that looked like a castle. ‘What’s that place, Nettie?’

  ‘I dunno. Never seen nothing like it.’

  Mr Arbuthnot looked over the top of his newspaper. ‘It’s the Tower of London. That’s where wicked people were imprisoned and where traitors are sent to be executed on the block.’

  Sarah had no idea what a traitor had done to receive such a terrible punishment, but she decided that she had better be good or she might end up in the Tower. She glanced at Nettie, who looked even paler than normal, and she squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered. ‘It won’t happen to us.’

  ‘Not unless you do something really bad,’ Mr Arbuthnot said with a wry smile. He folded his newspaper and laid it on the seat beside him. ‘We’re nearly there.’

  ‘What will happen to us then?’ Sarah had not meant to blurt out the question but she had been studying their mentor’s face and had noted the crinkly lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, which made him look as though he smiled rather a lot. He reminded her of Charlie Potts, who had played character roles in the theatre. Charlie had liked a drop or two of tiddley, but he was a good sort really, and he had a seemingly endless supply of sugared almonds in his dressing room. She licked her lips as she recalled the sweet crunch of the sugar shell and the delicious taste of the almond inside: Charlie could be very generous, especially when he had been taking a glass or two of gin to steady his nerves.

  ‘I haven’t quite decided yet,’ Mr Arbuthnot said, eyeing her thoughtfully. ‘You’re very small for your age. We’ll have to see, but I think my wife might have some ideas on the subject.’ His gaze shifted to Nettie and he frowned. ‘Perhaps I should have chosen a strong lad rather than a girl, but I’m sure we can find something for you to do in the sugar mill.’

  ‘Sugar?’ Nettie breathed. ‘You make sugar, guvner? I love sugar.’

  Sarah’s mouth watered and she licked her lips, imagining endless supplies of sweetmeats. It sounded like heaven.

  Mr Arbuthnot smiled benevolently. ‘Perhaps you are the right girl for me, young Nettie. I’m sure we’ll find something to occupy you. However, the first thing on the agenda will be to find you girls something to wear other than that hideous uniform.’

  Mrs Arbuthnot echoed these sentiments within moments of meeting them. Sarah had hung back, attempting to hide behind Nettie, but Mrs Arbuthnot’s pleasant face was almost a mirror image of her husband’s. Neither of them could be described as handsome, but kindness from an adult was something that Sarah had experienced very little during her time in the workhouse and she found herself melting beneath the nice lady’s gentle smile. Mrs Arbuthnot turned to her husband with a determined nod of her head. ‘You’re quite right, James. These children must have new and more suitable clothes. I’ll send Dorcas with a note to my dressmaker and she can come here and measure the girls for whatever they need.’

  He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I knew that you would want to help them, Sophia. I should have taken on a couple of boys, but when I saw these two poor little orphans clinging to each other as if they were drowning, I simply had to rescue them. I’ve a good mind to report Trigg and his abominable wife to the board of governors.’

  ‘Quite right too,’ Mrs Arbuthnot said firmly. ‘You must do that as soon as possible, but what is more important now is to get the girls something to eat. I’m sure they must be hungry.’

  ‘I daresay the food in that place leaves a lot to be desired.’ Mr Arbuthnot picked up his top hat and cane. ‘I must get back to the mill, but I’ll come home early and we can decide what’s best for them then.’

  ‘I think that’s settled already, my love.’

  ‘I had a feeling it might have been.’ He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘If you please, missis,’ Nettie said, bobbing a curtsey. ‘What are we to do? We can scrub and clean and the like.’

  ‘We’ll talk about that later.’ Mrs Arbuthnot tugged at an embroidered bell pull. ‘In the meantime Dorcas will take you to the kitchen and Cook will look after you while I write a note to my dressmaker.’

  Almost as if she had been summoned by the mere mention of her name, Dorcas entered the room. She bobbed a curtsey to her mistress. ‘You rang, ma’am?’

  Sarah shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other beneath Dorcas’s curious stare. She felt Nettie’s fingers close around her hand and they moved closer together.

  Mrs Arbuthnot gave them a reassuring smile. ‘Dorcas will take you to the kitchen and Cook will give you something to eat.’

  Sarah nodded mutely and Nettie squeezed her hand, grinning broadly.

  ‘Tell Cook to make sure they are fed well,’ Mrs Arbuthnot said firmly. ‘Then I have an errand for you, Dorcas.’

  ‘Yes’m. I’ll be back directly.’ Dorcas opened the door and beckoned. ‘Come along then.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Arbuthnot,’ Sarah said, remembering her manners. Ma had always been particular about how to behave and she did not want to let her down now.

  ‘Yes’m, thank you,’ Nettie murmured as she and Sarah followed Dorcas out of the room.

  Once outside in the hallway, Dorcas stopped for a moment to look them up and down with a critical but not unfriendly expression. ‘So where’ve you two come from then? Them duds look like workhouse clothes to me.’

  ‘You’re so sharp you must’ve spent the night in the knife box,’ Nettie said, sticking out her chin as if spoiling for a fight.

  Sarah tugged at her sleeve. ‘She didn’t mean nothing by it. Don’t start a ruckus here.’

  ‘Better watch your tongue, Ginger,’ Dorcas said crossly. ‘Take the little ’un’s advice and mind your manners, especially in front of Cook. She’ll take a ladle to your backside if you cheek her.’

  Nettie tossed her head. ‘I’ve had worse from the Tickler, and don’t call me Ginger. Me name’s Nettie Bean, and this here is Sarah Scrase.’

  Dorcas sniffed and turned away.

  ‘Please be nice,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Don’t get us thrown out of this lovely house. I never seen anything like it afore.’ She hurried after Dorcas, her small feet pitter-pattering on the polished oak floorboards. She wished that she could walk more slowly so that she could absorb every last detail of the richly patterned emerald-green wallpaper, the gilt-framed paintings of rather sombre pastor
al scenes, and the brass candle sconces with expensive candles waiting to be lit at dusk. Mr Arbuthnot must be very rich to afford such a luxury, she thought, resisting the urge to run her finger down the velvet-smooth wax. At the workhouse they had used the much cheaper ones made from tallow, and when they lived in Vinegar Street Ma had soaked scraps of rag in tallow oil, which had given very little light and had filled their old lodgings with the smell of rancid mutton fat. ‘This is a lovely house,’ she whispered to Nettie. ‘Mr Arbuthnot must be very wealthy.’

  Dorcas glanced over her shoulder with a superior smile. ‘The master’s got the biggest and best sugar house in these parts. Come along, don’t dawdle.’ She led them down a narrow staircase to the basement kitchen.

  The appetising aroma of roasting meat and fried onions made Sarah’s stomach growl with hunger. She had eaten nothing but bread, gruel and thin vegetable soup for the past year and her diet in Vinegar Yard had been little better. Nettie licked her lips and sniffed the air like a ravenous hound.

  ‘Well, now. What have we here?’ A comely woman in her middle years stopped rolling out pastry to give them a steady look.

  ‘These two are the master’s latest charity cases, Mrs Burgess.’ Dorcas propelled them forward with a gentle push. ‘This one is Nettie Bean and the little ’un is Sarah something-or-other.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah said, alarmed at the prospect of being given yet another nickname. ‘That’s not me name, ma’am. I’m Sarah Scrase and I’m very hungry.’

  ‘You may call me Cook,’ Mrs Burgess said, beaming. ‘I can see from your clothes that you’ve been rescued from one of those dreadful places, and you both look half-starved. Sit down and I’ll find you something nice to eat.’

  Sarah had to pinch herself to make certain she was not dreaming. She had almost forgotten that there were kind and generous people in the world other than her beloved Miss Parfitt. The only regret she had when leaving the workhouse was that she would never see her guardian angel again.

  Nettie dug her in the ribs. ‘Do as she says, or she’ll think you’re simple-minded or something.’

  Dorcas snatched her bonnet and shawl from a wall peg. ‘I’ve got to run an errand for the missis, Cook. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  ‘All right, but don’t stop to flirt with any of those big, good-looking German lads from the sugar house.’

  Sarah glanced anxiously at Cook and was relieved to see her smiling, despite her stern warning, and Dorcas did not seem to be the least bit put out.

  ‘I’ve got a gentleman friend, Cook, and well you know it. My Wally would take it very much amiss if I was to flirt with the sugar bakers, even if some of them are handsome, jolly fellows.’ With a spirited toss of her head Dorcas pranced out of the room and her footsteps echoed on the wooden treads as she ascended the stairs.

  Nettie and Sarah exchanged surprised looks, but Mrs Burgess merely laughed and moved to the range. Taking the lid off a large black saucepan she ladled soup into two bowls and placed them on the table. ‘There you are, girlies. I’ll cut you some bread and there’s butter in the dish. Help yourselves.’

  Sarah’s heart sank when she realised they were to have soup, but one taste of the delicious broth filled with chunks of meat and vegetables was enough to dispel her fears. ‘This is good,’ she said, shovelling bread and butter into her mouth. She had learned to be quick in the workhouse or someone would snatch the food from beneath your nose.

  Nettie was also gobbling her meal and had almost cleared her plate when Cook rapped on the tabletop with the ladle. ‘I’ve seen better manners in a pigsty.’ She pointed at them, frowning. ‘Beware, for only fools in rags and beggars old in sin, mistake themselves for carpet bags and tumble vittles in.’ Her sonorous tones echoed round the kitchen.

  Sarah gulped and swallowed. ‘Sorry, missis. But this is the first nice grub we’ve had for as long as I can remember.’

  ‘Is there any more?’ Nettie held up her empty plate.

  Cook’s stern expression melted into a sympathetic smile. ‘Of course there is.’ She lifted the pan to the table and refilled their bowls. ‘The master never begrudges a penny spent on good nourishing food. Eat up, but don’t make yourselves sick. There’ll be more to come if you’re going to stay here awhile, but that’s up to sir and madam, not me.’

  Sarah ate more slowly this time and was beginning to feel extremely full, but she managed to finish her meal. Nettie let out a loud belch and immediately apologised. ‘Sorry, missis. It just came out.’

  ‘I’ll excuse you this time, young lady. But don’t do it again. Bad manners don’t get you anywhere in this world. You’ve got a lot to learn.’

  ‘And I will,’ Nettie said, sticking out her chin. ‘One day I’m going to be a lady and wear silk gowns and travel in me own carriage.’

  ‘You’ll have to be very rich.’ Sarah licked each of her fingers in turn and received a warning glance from Cook, who tossed a drying cloth at Nettie.

  ‘That’s as maybe, but in the meantime, miss, you can wash the dishes you’ve used and the little one can dry them and put them away. Everyone has to earn their keep and Betty, the scullery maid, has gone to the market to buy fresh vegetables, that’s if the silly girl can remember what was on the list, for she cannot read or write.’

  Nettie jumped to her feet and began piling up the dirty crockery. ‘I’ll do whatever you ask, missis. I’m not a shirker.’

  ‘I can read and write,’ Sarah said shyly. She did not want to boast but she felt that she must find some way to repay Cook’s kindness. ‘Perhaps I could go with Betty next time and tell her what you’ve written down.’

  ‘At least they taught you something in the workhouse.’ Cook picked up the rolling pin and sprinkled the pastry with a little flour. ‘I’ve got work to do or Mr Arbuthnot won’t get his favourite pie for dinner tonight, so you girls keep out of my way and then we’ll all be happy.’

  Nettie hurried through to the scullery carrying a pile of crockery. ‘Come and help me, Sarah. Don’t stand there doing nothing.’

  ‘Coming.’ Sarah rose from the table, but she did not follow immediately. She stood for a moment, twisting her apron into a knot as she plucked up the courage to continue the conversation. In the workhouse she would never have dared to speak unless spoken to by an adult. Such behaviour would have earned an instant reprimand from the Tickler. ‘I never learned to read in the workhouse.’ The words tumbled from her lips. ‘I picked it up in the theatre where Ma worked.’

  Cook looked up, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. ‘What theatre was that?’

  The sound of water gushing from the pump into the stone sink made Sarah jump. ‘I’d best go and help Nettie.’

  ‘Not till you tell me more. I go to Wilton’s music hall on my nights off. It’s just round the corner in Grace’s Alley.’

  Encouraged by Cook’s sudden burst of enthusiasm, Sarah felt more at ease. ‘We lived near the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. That’s where Ma worked, scrubbing floors.’

  ‘Are you coming, Sarah?’ Nettie shouted above the noise of the water swishing from the pump.

  ‘She’ll be with you in a moment.’ Cook stared at Sarah as if she had said something incredibly interesting. ‘You must tell me all about the goings on at the Theatre Royal. I saw Barney Williams in Our Gal and William Templeton as Robin Hood. It was magnificent and I was transported to another world. Oh, how I love the theatre.’

  ‘I know Barney and Mr Templeton,’ Sarah said, gulping back tears as the memories of happier times came flooding back. ‘They was kind to me and let me watch them rehearsing while Ma scrubbed the floors.’

  ‘And your ma is no longer with us?’

  ‘She died in the workhouse, missis.’ Sarah mopped her eyes on her apron.

  ‘You poor little soul.’ Cook’s voice broke on a sob. ‘Come here and let an old lady give you a cuddle.’

  Enveloped in a large flour-covered bosom, Sarah could hardly breathe. She did not want to wriggle f
ree and hurt Cook’s feelings, but then Nettie burst into the room demanding to know why she was idling away her time when she should be wiping the dishes. Sarah broke away from Cook’s warm embrace. ‘I’d best help.’

  ‘You do that, sweetheart,’ Cook said, patting her on the head. ‘You can tell me all about the theatrical folk after supper when the work is done. I like to sit by the fire and put me feet up for a bit before I go to my bed.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’ Sarah hurried off to appease Nettie.

  They had just finished and were putting the plates away in the dresser when Dorcas came hurtling down the stairs. She came to a sudden stop, her bonnet awry and her shawl slipping to the ground. ‘There’s such a to-do upstairs,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’m wondering whether I should run out and find a constable.’

  ‘Why? What on earth has happened?’ Cook hurried round the table to help Dorcas to a chair. ‘Sit down and catch your breath, my girl. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘It’s the master. I never seen him in a temper afore, but he’s outside in the street having a set-to with a fat gent with a red face. I couldn’t hear all what was said, but it were about them two.’ She pointed to Sarah and Nettie.

  ‘What did you hear?’ Cook demanded. ‘Pull yourself together, Dorcas.’

  ‘The fat man was saying he’d been robbed. He said something about her being worth a tenner when she’s a bit older or even more to the right buyer. I tell you, Cook, I couldn’t hear most of it, but I thought the guvner was going to hit the other bloke.’

  ‘Trigg,’ Nettie whispered. ‘It must be the workhouse master come to get you, Sarah.’

  There was a moment of stunned silence and then Cook headed for the door that led into the area.

  ‘Come on,’ Nettie said, grabbing Sarah by the hand. ‘We’ve got to see this. I’ll put my money on Mr Arbuthnot.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘HOW DARE YOU come here accusing me of foul play?’ Standing in the street outside his house, Mr Arbuthnot faced up to a red-faced and furious Trigg.